


Stories for the Road

by Adira_Tyree



Series: Fallout: Returning Home [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: One Shot Collection, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, and more characters as it goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adira_Tyree/pseuds/Adira_Tyree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of oneshots relating to the Fallout: Returning Home series. They are here simply to add color to the world and its characters. Each work will have its own tags and summary as this goes along. Some will be long, some will be short, all sorts of fun. Enjoy! </p><p>[I'd recommend being up to date on the other parts of the series before reading these, as these will have spoilery information for those if you haven't read them.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Met a Girl in a Far-Off Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the famous Courier Six! He's purebred luck with a healthy dash of charisma, and an impressive ability to discover everyone's secrets (even those of a Frumentarius). And by the way, he's working for the Legion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags** : Vulpes Inculta, Male Courier, tension, secrets, somebody knows, sexually charged courier, Vulpes just isn't having it, he's angry.
> 
>  **Notes** : I'm so excited to finally get Six on the board here. He's absolutely disgusting. And I hate him so much that I love him. But mostly hate. Either way. There's going to be a lot going on between these two in future. So keep an eye on them.
> 
>  **Wordcount** : 431

            “I’ve seen grey eyes like yours before,” Six said, cocking his head to the side. “ _Just_ like yours,” Six added, unmoving.

            His black hair flopped across one of his green eyes, resting on a crooked nose. It revealed the scar he grew his hair out to cover. This was something Vulpes noticed the courier did intentionally, to remind the person he was speaking to that he had survived death once already – it was the subtle way he tried to intimidate others. The rest of the time Six would work very hard to keep that scar covered, perhaps in attempt to surprise others with its continued presence when he wished to.

            It didn’t work on Vulpes. The game the courier played was too obvious to him. It was a good technique to use on others, to be sure, so long as it was not used too often. But Vulpes was all too familiar with others trying to trick him, and with trying to trick them in turn.

            He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

            “They’re rare, aren’t they?” Six crossed his arms and took several slow, dramatic steps towards the Frumentarius. “I’ve only ever seen grey eyes twice in my life. Once here, in a little town called Nipton that burned down recently.” He nodded to the South, in the general direction where the town had once stood. “The other was a long distance from here. The people there considered it a… holy place. They called it _Zion._ ”

            Vulpes’ eyes narrowed. “Really,” he said, watching the courier’s every breath. The beating pulse in Six’s neck was so soft and calm – he knew he’d already won whatever game he was playing.

            “Yes…” Six let the word drag along, straightening his neck. “She was such a small girl, but already quite beautiful.”

            “I’m sure.”

            Six laughed softly, kicking the dusty ground with the toe of his boot. “Your ego needs no boosting, of course. We already know she would be beautiful, with eyes like yours.”

            “You misunderstand me,” Vulpes said, his tone dark and venomous. “You see, I have met this girl before, the one you speak of. She was beautiful then, as well.”

            “Can you be sure it was the same girl?” Six asked, a flutter of a laugh tickling the words as he spoke them.

            “The very same.”

            Six stepped closer. “Perhaps. Let me see…” He moved so close that their noses were almost touching.

            Vulpes didn’t move, refusing to back away.

            The courier stared straight into Vulpes’ unblinking eyes. “Yes. Yes I am quite sure they were exactly like yours.”

 


	2. Pretty Polly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vulpes hears of a woman named Polly who is passing on intelligence to the NCR, for a fine price of course, by decoding Legion radio transmissions. This needs to be taken care of. He heads out to her hometown posing as a traveler on his way to New Vegas (William aka Willie Grey), with the mission to take her out. He doesn’t expect to do so quite so literally, though. Only after spending a great night with her does he take care of the business he came to her home to do in the first place. He might even regret it - just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags** : Vulpes Inculta, "Polly" (OC), moderately graphic violence, explicit sex, smut, character death, murder, generally messed up, oh and randomly Vulpes singing.
> 
>  **Notes** : Ok so this is pretty messed up. It got more messed up as it went along. Everything to do with Vulpes in this series for the next several years of his life is pretty messed up. So yeah, it's pretty blunt and a bit of a psychological thrill ride. This was inspired by the old murder ballad Pretty Polly, and I am obsessed with [Vandaveer's rendition](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sLMDd3BS6zE) of it. This story is... well, you read the summary. You know what's going to happen.
> 
>  **Wordcount** : 5601

            The tricky assignments were the ones he always found most interesting. This one wasn’t tricky, but something about it caught his eye regardless. Maybe it had just been too long since he’d been outside the Fort, he wasn’t sure, but he found himself writing down his own name at the bottom of the page for assignment.

            Vulpes handed out the new assignments the next day. Stationing Lycaon and Cyrus in fast-growing Freeside, Hades and Ferox joining Alerio on the Strip, and Daedalus to assist Cato at the Dam, left him a man short for the job anyway. It made sense for him to deal with the situation. It was minor, but could easily grow out of hand.

            Somebody had broken the Legion’s transmission code.

            Thankfully, that someone was rather greedy.

            A woman calling herself Polly, based in Novac, would only sell information for a high price. And from what he had heard, she refused to sell the code, leaving her with a brilliant monopoly of information. This made his task easier, either way; no loose ends to tie up.

            Vulpes had discussed the situation with few others. Pliny, who had helped him write the code; Cassio, stationed in nearby Searchlight, who knew of the woman and had taken leave to bring word of the treacherous woman to Fort; Galenus, his second in command while Alerio remained on the Strip. It of course had to be explained to Caesar but the Frumentarii all agreed it would be best to explain that a _situation was being resolved_ rather than _a situation has arisen_.

            Given permission by Caesar to leave, Vulpes packed simple traveler’s clothes in a bag and slung it over his shoulder. His ripper would be impractical for the mission, so instead he kept a combat knife and a large rifle on him as he took the ferry back to Cottonwood Cove. Lucullus was both surprised and pleased to see him, but happily honored his request for silence. Vulpes agreed to make up for it on his return trip.

            And by the time the sun began its decline into the Western half of the sky, Vulpes had stowed his armor in a trunk at the Cove, transformed himself into a traveler from the West, and found himself heading north along the road to Novac. A short journey, and a simple one. He walked at a leisurely pace, relaxing his shoulders and shoving his thumbs into this pockets before the town’s sniper could see him.

            Just another random traveler on the road, looking to make a killing in Vegas. Maybe a mercenary, given his outfit: loose denim pants, a tanktop, and a bandana down around his neck.

            Or, perhaps just one in Novac.

            He knew that soon he would reach a small encampment used by one group of raiders or another – likely Vipers by the looks of them. They had seen him, but they didn’t know he had seen them as well. They could be helpful to him in their deaths, as long as he fought them exactly right. There were only four, so he had to make every moment count.

            Scuffing his feet along the dusty road, he began to sing loudly, devious eyes hidden behind large sunglasses.

 _“Oh Polly, dear Polly, come-go along with me,”_ he sang, watching the Vipers pick up and run at him, all at once. _“Polly, pretty Polly, come go along with me…”_

            He pulled his rifle from his back when the first of the Vipers was near enough to spit at, her knife raised high, and rammed the butt of the rifle against her skull. She fell to the ground, barely conscious. A shot flew by his right ear as he moved towards the encampment; he countered it with a headshot of his own, and he didn’t miss.

 _“Before we get married some pleasures to see…”_ Vulpes sang a little quieter, but only to keep his hits steady.

            The next came running at him from behind a rock, roaring his rage, with a 10mm aimed… in his general direction – but it was jammed. Cursing, the Viper pulled a knife from his belt. Another shot came from Vulpes’ left; he fired at it, missed, but scared the man enough to rip the knife out of the now closing Viper’s hand. He broke the man’s arm and stabbed him in the gut with ease, keeping hold of the knife and letting it fall back onto the corpse as it crumpled.

            The fourth Viper swore and ran for the hill, not counting on Vulpes having enough accuracy with the rifle to hit him. It was a poor decision, on his part. Vulpes held his breath (continuing the song in his mind), traced after the man along the rifle’s sights, and fired. A shot to the knee to take him down, another to the back to take him out.

            Simple enough; the only thing left was to hope that the first of the Vipers hadn’t been hit so hard she wouldn’t get up. She was still down, but attempting to stand, hand clutching her knife. To give her time, he kicked around through the group’s meagre stash of supplies – mostly ammo and a few frag grenades, nothing useful to him.

            He continued the song, picking up where he left off in his head. _“Oh Polly, dear Polly, you’re guessin’ ‘bout right…”_

            A snarl behind him told him the Viper had finally managed to come after him. He turned reaching for his knife with a wide arc, moving slower than he’d like. Just as he’d hoped, she slashed the back of his arm with her knife. Mere seconds later his own knife slashed across her throat.

            Catching her before she hit the ground, he carefully laid her back against one of the rails lining the highway. Her eyes, wide and terrified, stared up at him, mouth moving but no sound escaping as she inched closer and closer to death.

 _Shhhh_ he hushed her, raising a finger to her lips and smoothing the hair away from her brow. She watched him in horror as he wiped the bloodied blade on her pant leg, then used it to cut away a long strip from her top, all while singing softly. _“Polly, dear Polly, you’re guessin’ just about right – I dug on your grave the best part of the night…”_

            He put his rifle back over his shoulder and slid the knife back into its sheath at his hip, then folded the fabric over with precise movements. It was dirty, but it mattered little. He would reach Novac in moments, where someone would insist he be stimmed back to the pristine condition he kept himself in most of the time. Claiming exhaustion from the use of the stimpak would be simple enough; the drugs effected some more than others. Then it would simply be a waiting game.

            Halfway up the road, Vulpes regretted only allowing her the slight cut she managed to get in. It had already nearly stopped bleeding. Vulpes tensed and relaxed his forearm over and over to keep the blood flowing, peeling back the cloth whenever it started to stick to him. If he didn’t keep it bleeding, he’d lose half the sympathy he was going to use to find _her._

            Vulpes laughed quietly, singing just loud enough for him to hear his own voice.

 _“He stabbed her in her heart, and her heart’s blood did flow. He stabbed her in her heart, and her heart’s blood did flow…”_ He peeled back the fabric again, pleased to see the blood flowing freely from the wound still as he reached the edge of the town. _“And into the grave, Pretty Polly did go.”_

            His boots crunched against the grit of the road as he approached the medic standing around by the outdoor kitchen used by the small town’s citizens. The woman sighed in annoyance and rolled her eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

            Vulpes stopped his song. “Willie Grey,” he said, standing a few feet from her.

            “What did you do to yourself?”

            Vulpes sneered, taken aback by the woman’s insolence. “I kept myself alive when attacked by the raiders calling the road south of here their home,” he said showing her the wound. “They got worse.”

            “You got caps?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

            Vulpes nodded once.

            The woman pilfered through her small stash of supplies. “Take a seat,” she said waving at one of the bar stools surrounding the kitchen’s scavenged table. The table looked as though it had been a bar in a bunker at one point. Vulpes did so, laying his arm carefully on the counter. Stinging pain in the wound told him it was probably becoming infected.

            He hummed his song to himself as he watched her work. She poured a splash of vodka across the wound, which burned, but would suitably kill off any infection. Pressing the wound closed with two fingers, she wrapped it tight in a long white bandage, securing it with two small safety pins.

            Vulpes raised an eyebrow and was about to ask if that was all, but was silenced by the sudden stab of a stimpak needle. She pressed it straight through the bandage and into the skin beneath. The contents made his head spin.

            “Are you quite finished,” he ground out between gritted teeth as she yanked the stimpak free of the bandage.

            “Yup. Should heal up in a few hours. There’s a bit of anti-venom mixed into that vodka, so you should be fine soon enough.” The medic piled her equipment back into her bag as she spoke, not looking at him. “Stimpak’s 30, antiseptic and bandage is 5. And don’t give me any of that NCR dollars shit, caps only.”

            Vulpes grinned. At least the woman had sense enough to disrespect the NCR. He handed her the caps without complaint.

            The waiting game didn’t last long. With dinner time fast approaching, many of the town’s residents started to descend upon the kitchen area. Some ignored him, others gave him inquisitive looks. One particularly happy looking woman, maybe in her late twenties, was too busy hanging all over a surly man in an NCR beret to even notice him. The man himself eyes Vulpes carefully before dismissing him.

            Two mercenaries fixed themselves some instant noodles and stood talking with the medic. An older woman with a pinched face and glasses heated up what looked to be leftover stew taking two bowls of it and disappearing into the dinosaur before coming back for a third bowl for herself. Another man chopped slices of brahmin steak into smaller pieces and slid them onto a kebab skewer.

            Thankfully, the woman in question, _dear Polly_ , had a particular distinguishing feature which Cassio had told him about: a faded tattoo running down her left arm, making it appear as though the flesh was wrapped with barbed wire. A strange choice.

            “That’s an interesting tattoo,” he said to her as she walked past him into the now-empty kitchen.

            She raised her head back out of the refrigerator to look at him. “Thanks.” She ducked her head back in, emerging with a slice of meat. “Got it a long time ago, back out east of here.”

            “East?” he asked, somewhat concerned. Much of the land to the east was Legion territory. “Not much East of here is safe for a pretty woman like you.”

            She laughed, the sound short and cold. “I know. That’s why I’m not there anymore. Husband died, here I am.”

            “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t, but it was the appropriate thing to say.

            She shrugged. “It’s a warzone out here in the wasteland.” She set the meat in a pan on the jury-rigged stove. “I knew it would happen to one of us sooner or later.”

            “You sound as though you’ve seen a lot.” Small talk was one of the things Vulpes hated most, but this woman’s past sounded like something he should dig into, if at all possible.

            “I have.” She cracked her neck to the side, stretching her back out from one side to the other as well. “I was born on the east coast. Been walking my way across the wasteland since I was about 20.”

            The East coast? “You’ve traveled many miles.”

            “Yup. A whole lot of them alone.” She flipped the meat in the pan, sprinkling a pinch of salt across the browned meat. “What about you?”

            The abrupt counter suggested she was trying to avoid talking about some event in her past; that only made him more anxious to know. “I was born in Arizona, but I’ve spent most of my life in California. Decided to make my way to New Vegas, see something new, different. You never know when you’re going to die.”

            There was that cold laugh again. “Tell me about it. I’ve almost died more times than I can count.”

            “You must have some interesting stories,” he prompted, hoping to shake loose some juicy tidbit or another.

            “A few,” she gave him a half-grin that mimicked his own. “And I take it you’re not going to leave without hearing one?”

            “Perhaps more,” he said with mock seriousness. “I have a thirst that must be quenched.”

            She laughed again, but this time it was real, and warm. Progress.

            The pair sat and talked for hours. She told of how she’d grown up in a vault on the distant coast, and after leaving it found a man she would come to love and one-day marry. How they decided to see the world together; how he died just months into their journey. She’d continued this far in his memory, rather than going back home to the people she knew and loved, only to be stopped at the border of the NCR by a lack of paperwork.

            Vulpes couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You traveled this far and can go no further for lack of proper papers?”

            “Well,” she said, then leaned over to whisper to him, “truth be told, I snuck across the border anyway. I reached the coast, turned around, and snuck back out. But a I don’t want the damn Ranger to find out in case he decides to report me.” She huffed out a laugh. “I get the feeling the NCR would love to get their hands on me right now anyway.”

            “How do you know _I’m_ not NCR?” Vulpes said, leaning back and raising an eyebrow. He smirked at her laugh.

            “You? Nah. I’ve seen everyone this wretched world has to offer.” She poured herself a short glass of whiskey and watered it out. “No, you’re no NCR. I’m not sure what, but you’re definitely not NCR.”

            The truth of it made Vulpes almost want to thank her, but he wasn’t sure he wanted her to know he’d take it as a compliment. Instead, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

            “Are you sure?” he asked, voice low.

            She watched him carefully, but didn’t back away. “Quite sure.”

            His gaze dropped to her neck: pulse fast, breathing slow. Perfect. “I should let you go,” he said, standing and glancing up to the dark sky. “It’s getting late.”

            “Do you have a room yet?” she asked, swirling the drink in her glass and took a swig.

            “No,” Vulpes admitted. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.” He glanced down at his arm, remembering the medic had said it should heal quickly. It felt fine, so he pulled away the bandage, pocketing the pins. Only a patchy pink line remained. It would likely disappear entirely in another hour. If not, what matter was another scar anyway?

            “I’ve got space at my place, if you want,” she said, keeping her tone conversational as she stood. “It’s been a while since I had any company.”

            “I wouldn’t want to impose,” Vulpes said, shaking his head.

            “Don’t worry about it. Save yourself the caps.” She downed the rest of her drink in one fast gulp, clinking the cup back down on the counter. “They charge a flat rate no matter how long you stay. It’s not worth it for one night.”

            “Are you sure?” Vulpes said, parroting himself.

            “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Her gaze wandered to his shoulders, his exposed biceps. “Come on.” Her voice was light, soft as she beckoned him to follow.

            Her small house was near the back of the settlement, small and cookie cutter like the rest of them, but a little more secluded than the rest. That suited Vulpes just fine as he reminded himself of his purpose here. While this woman was certainly interesting, she would no doubt be immediately disinterested in him if she were to discover his allegiance. A pity, but not an unexpected one.

            She stepped in first and held the door open for him, quietly shutting it behind her and flicking on the light switch.

            “Working electricity?” Vulpes asked, surprised.

            “Recent influx of caps has granted me some luxuries,” she said with a smug grin. “I have running water and a working refrigerator as well. Next on the list is to fix the stove. Then I won’t need to worry about any of that ‘community kitchen’ crap.”

            “I am glad it isn’t fixed yet,” Vulpes said with his best charming smile. “I wouldn’t have met you if it was. You’d have stayed in here and I’d have spent all those caps renting a room for the night.”

            He looked around the room and noted that she’d found as many items in good condition as possible. There was a couch that had been reupholstered with what was likely brahmin leather, a padded chair in front of a clean wooden table on which sat the offending HAM radio. Beside them in the corner was a bookcase filled with several well-kept books and a few decorative items.

            She smiled at him from across the room where she lingered in a doorway. “I’ve done all right for myself out here. It’s not hard if you find something you’re good at.”

            “And what are you good at?” he asked, adding a hint of curiosity to his voice.

            She laughed, her whole body taking up the motion of it. “All sorts of things.” Her eyes darted to the radio and then the floor, then up to Vulpes’ eyes. “Some I get paid for, others I keep secret.”

            “I’m very good at keeping secrets,” he said, walking slowly across the room to her. She didn’t back away when he placed his hands on her hips. The moment was perfect; she was falling right into the trap he’d so easily set for her. He longed to reach for the knife at his side, but she blocked his path to it with her own arms as they wrapped around his waist. He could feel her long fingernails digging into his back through his tanktop.

            Maybe it could wait.

            Polly leaned back against the doorframe, pulling Vulpes against her.

            “I don’t normally do this,” she said quietly, her head tilting to the side. “Something about you though… you vex me.”

            “That’s a good word,” he murmured, pressing his forhead against hers and pulling her tighter to his chest. The strong, rapid beat of her pulse made his blood beat harder in his veins.

            “I like words.” She tipped her chin up so that her lips met his, kissing him with a cautiously restrained hunger. When her tongue pushed against his lips, he let her deepen the kiss. It had been a while since he’d done something like this. This woman was his mark, but she was pulling him gently towards the bed in the next room.

            He let her.

            It was only moments before he’d lifted her shirt over her head, his own shortly following. The smell of her skin so close to his lips made his head feel light. He gently nipped at her neck and was rewarded with a soft moan. Little red marks lingered on her skin where his fingers dug in against her tiny frame.

            She pushed him down onto the bed first, straddling his hips. Vulpes was more than happy to let her take the lead, this time. It was oddly freeing. He reached up to cup one of her breasts, still hidden by a faded, baby-blue bra, as she undid his belt. She slid the belt away, but left it on the bed beside her.

            He quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. Her only response was a smirk as she shimmied her shoulders at him. That bra just had to go. The snap came undone easily and he pulled the fabric away.

            With practiced ease he gripped her with both hands and flipped them so that he was now straddling her hips. The belt was pinched under her shoulder, but when he moved to pull it away she put a hand on his wrist. She, with both hands, guided him so that the belt pressed against her throat.

            Vulpes almost laughed from the irony. Here he was, debating how to kill his prey, and she herself had moved his hands to her throat. If it wasn’t such a turnon for him he probably _would_ have laughed. With each passing second, his pants felt tighter and tighter.

            With a growl of appreciation, he pressed the belt harder to her – just enough to convey his interest, but not enough to cut off her breathing. Her back arched, pushing her exposed breasts up towards him. Not moving his hands, he reached down and took one taught nipple in his mouth.

            When she moaned and rolled her hips against him, he knew that it was well worth the extra time. It had been far too long since he’d had some fun like this with a willing partner, and that made things very, very different than normal. A part of him now regretted having to kill her.

            It was all for the good of Caesar and the Legion, he reminded himself, flicking his tongue against her nipple before switching to the other breast. All for the good of the wasteland.

            And maybe, just a little bit good for him too.

            Whimpering, Polly reached between them and unfastened his pants, straining to pull them down, but Vulpes didn’t move. Her whimpers became more and more frustrated, making him laugh. Every time he pressed his tongue against her nipple her hips would buck; if he rolled it between his teeth, she moaned loudly. It was too perfect.

            Letting go of the belt and subsequently her neck, Vulpes stood at the edge of the bed. Polly instantly was on him, pulling his pants down his legs. Amused, he kicked off his boots as well. He shoved her roughly back to the bed. She gazed at him from hooded eyes, chest heaving, one foot resting on the bed and one dangling off. Her toes traced the line of his shin before pulling down his boxers by the hem.

            Vulpes pushed her leg off the bed and nudged her knees apart with his own. Kneeling down, he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder and nibbled along her thigh as he unfastened the button of her own pants, then pulled down the zipper and peeled them away. The last remaining vestige of her clothing came away with them.

            He kissed a line along her hip bone, breathing in the scent of her. A frustrated whine snapped his attention upward. His hand shot directly for her throat, wrapping his fingers across her pulse and squeezing threateningly. Again to his surprise, she bucked her hips impatiently.

            “For someone who doesn’t normally ‘do this,’” Vulpes said, toying with her pulse against his thumb as he spoke, “you’re remarkably impatient.” He pressed his lips to her stomach, moving up towards her chest.

            “Maybe the two are more intimately related than you would think,” she managed, her voice wavering.

            His lips found her neck next. “You don’t even know my name,” he mouthed against the skin, moving his hand to rest between her legs.

            “That’s part of the fun,” Polly whispered.

            He pressed a finger slowly, teasingly inside her.

            “No names, no strings, no promises,” she continued. Her hips pressed up to meet his hand. Vulpes pressed his thumb to her clit, rolling it in slow circles. The agony showed plainly in her eyes as she whimpered and moaned obscenities. She turned her face away from him. “No attachment.”

            “Tell me you want this,” he said, almost a question as he pressed his face into her hair. It smelled like books and cups of tea; heavenly. Again, that hint of regret rolled in his stomach.

            The way she moaned and pressed her whole body up against him answered him without words. It wasn’t enough for him.

            “Say it.”

            “I want this,” she breathed, eyes closed. “Please, I want this, now.”

            He pulled his hand away, licking his fingers clean – earning him another moan from her – and shifted her farther onto the bed. The space between her legs felt so right to him. “Again.” He bit down on her shoulder, teeth pressing harder and harder until her breath hitched against his chest.

            “ _Please_.” Her legs wrapped around his hips and pulled him to grind against her. “I want this, _please_.”

            He wrapped his arms around under her, gripping her neck and hips to hold her close. She trembled beneath him, her breath on his throat intoxicating. Breathe in, breathe out. His fingers dug into her skin as he slowly pressed into her. The words that fell from his lips could have been Latin or English, he didn’t care.

            Teeth at his neck and nails in his back – beautiful sensations he’d forgotten – made his already crumbling mind fall to pieces entirely as her hips tilted up to press flush against his own. A groan escaped his lips as he pulled back, then slammed back hard against her, lingering fully embedded within her.

            Nagging at the back of his mind was the memory of why he was there; he pushed it away and pressed his teeth to her throat.

            Polly snarled her frustration and slid her nails hard down his back, leaving deep scratches that he knew would well up later and sting even after he was gone. He returned with a deep growl of his own and fucked her in earnest, hard and fast and too much all at once. It made his mind reel and his blood race, but it didn’t matter because of how beautiful she looked beneath him.

            “Fuck!” she shouted, clenching tight against him as she reached climax. It was almost too much for him, but Vulpes refused to give in so quickly. No, he was in no way done with this woman yet.

            She moaned in his ear as the waves of her orgasm shook through her. Vulpes took his chance and withdrew, leaving her a whimpering mess as he stood. “On your knees.” There was no room for question in his voice.

            She scrambled up and did as he’d told her. “So eager,” he whispered, sliding a finger across the soaked, exposed skin. Polly shuddered, lifting her head back in what appeared to be pride.

            Vulpes laughed lightly and picked up the belt from where it had fallen to and wrapped it around her throat. She didn’t back away or try to move it, just waited.

            “You make me wish I could keep you,” he muttered, lining up with her entrance. “That’s a dangerous thing.”

            With a moan, Polly slid back onto him, taking him by surprise. He was going to draw it out, make her beg – but he wasn’t about to complain about her pressing back against him.

            “ _Please_ ,” she begged, rolling her hips against his, shuddering violently when he hit just that perfect spot. She pressed back harder, trying to take every bit of him she could manage.

            “You don’t seem to need my help…” He gave his hips a tiny thrust. She squeaked out a tiny moan, pressing back again. “Why don’t I just let you do this all on your own?” He tightened the belt against her throat.

            Polly whimpered and tried to fuck back against him, but he used the belt to hold her still. He laughed at her frustration, which only made her try harder. Giving in to his own throbbing need, he dropped the belt to the bed and gripped her throat with his hand instead. The flutter of her pulse against his skin was enough to frenzy any man.

            In moments he knew there was no stopping anymore. He slammed against her, one hand at her throat and one hand reaching between her legs. She tried to moan but he held her throat tight. In turn she clamped down against him, her head falling forward as she came hard against him.

            The sudden rush of wetness was too much for him. With a few more aching thrusts he could hold out no longer and filled her with his own. He felt her spasm around him, drawing an unexpected whimper from him – a sound he hadn’t known he could make.

            Vulpes rested his head against her spine, loving the feel of her against him. Lazily he ran his hands along her body, squeezing her soft flesh as he caught his breath. Carefully, he lowered them both to the bed and withdrew, collapsing on the sheets beside her.

            For a moment he thought about staying with her, but he knew his mission would never allow it. Bringing her back with him was a tempting thought as well, but he doubted she would go willingly with him to the Legion. Her life had been good here, too good. She would never willingly leave it for something less.

            Realizing that it had to be done, that he had no alternatives, that he was an enemy in this place, he felt too exposed.

            With a jab of guilt and regret he slipped back into his pants, leaving his knife where it had landed on the floor. Vulpes laid back down beside her with his arms behind his head. Polly rolled onto her side to face him.

            “Well then,” she panted, still out of breath. “That was fun.”

            Vulpes smirked, raising an eyebrow at her. “Devious minx you are.”

            “I’m really not,” she said with a soft laugh, closing her eyes. “I’ve never been so… so…” Her face turned red and she covered it with her hands, laughing harder. “Oh my god, I just slept with a complete stranger.”

            Vulpes laughed too, sitting up. “I am less a stranger now, if that helps.”

            She kept laughing but Vulpes didn’t. He let his head fall forward and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to smooth out a tight muscle.

            “What’s on your mind?” she asked, her laughter dying down.

            Vulpes shook his head. “Just remembering something I need to do.”

            Seemingly concerned, Polly slid to the edge of the bed to sit next to him. Her hand on his leg made him look up.

            Vulpes smiled, softly, turning and pulling her back against his chest. The woman purred a hum of contentment as he wrapped a strong arm across her collar bone, arching her back so her shoulders pressed against him. “It is a pity that you must stay here,” he said quietly, pressing his lips to her neck. He scraped his teeth along the skin, breathing in her scent, and let his fingers linger at her jaw. “You would be… delightful.”

            Before she could respond, he jerked her head one way and her shoulders the other; he felt the snap in her neck against his throat. Her body slumped back against him, lifeless.

            It was done.

            Leaving her there, naked and dripping from their coupling, didn’t feel right. After finding a rag, he carefully wiped her clean, laying her across the bed. Still unsatisfied, he pulled what seemed to be a set of night clothes from the wardrobe and slid them onto her. The crimson silk was quite fetching on her.

            He gently laid her out in her bed, pulled the blankets up over her and shut the bedroom door behind him on his way out.

            Vulpes pulled on his top and drank two bottles of water he found in the kitchen. His night had been much more eventful than anticipated, and he had a long walk back to Cottonwood Cove before it would be over.

            Back in the front room, Vulpes rummaged through every possible hiding place he could think of, but found no papers detailing the Legion’s code. The HAM radio, however, was set to their primary communications channel, with a paper and pencil beside it. Only a small bucket with ashen scraps in the bottom suggested she had been decoding anything.

            He twisted the knob on the radio to a channel he knew to be used by the NCR, then switched it off.

            His work was done.

            Vulpes slid the rifle back over his shoulder. With it and his knife secured, he stepped out into the moonless night. It would be a long walk to keep himself out of the sniper’s sight. Something would have to be done about that man. A daytime sniper could be fooled; a nighttime sniper took no chances.

            The door clicked shut behind him, but he turned back around to face it. Vulpes frowned, debated briefly, and decided to leave the front door open – since the bedroom door was closed. Someone was more likely to find and bury her body that way. For once, that actually mattered to him.

_“And into the grave, pretty Polly did go…”_

           


	3. To Find Respite in my Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylva's nights are almost as horrible as her days. When nightmares and reality are interchangeable, it is hard not to turn to whatever thought brings us comfort - even when that comfort brings us disgust, in turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags** : Vulpes Inculta, Sylva (OC), Siri, violence, gore, horror in general, hate, trauma, dreams.
> 
>  **Notes** : Though I never intended to write anything from Sylva's perspective, this piece wouldn't leave me alone until I did. So have some Sylva. Some very messed up, depressed Sylva that is losing everything - her freedoms, her way of life, her sanity, her child. So while she doesn't do what she is thinking about, she does, at least at one point, consider it. Reference is to [chapter xvii](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1885800/chapters/5600096) of Vulpes: Memoriae. This piece is quite short, but I just couldn't not write it, for some reason.
> 
>  **Wordcount** : 684

            Waiting quickly became the hardest part of the game.

            It had to be the right moment. Not a second too late or too soon, or something would go wrong. Petrus would be a problem; he didn’t get it as bad as the women, he never understood. The man’s loyalty to Vulpes brought bile into her throat. Europa might be even worse, _his little pet- the broken doll with infinite gratitude to still be played with._

            No. It had to be the right moment, and it had to be done just right.

            So she waited.

            The exact moment would be hard to find, if it ever came. Petrus needed to be gone, away somewhere in the camp with work to do for hours. Vulpes would need to be asleep, drugged so that he wouldn’t wake at her slightest movement. Europa? She could be sent away quickly on some menial task; it was simply in her nature to comply.

            It meant that she had to be ready to act at _any_ second.

            She started asking for sleep aids. Not often, but enough that it didn’t seem out of place. _“This pregnancy keeps me awake all night, I just need something to get me to sleep.”_ Siri begrudgingly agreed to help her, though it was against Legion policy and could have her punished horribly if found out. She procured ingredients from a trader and found a way to mix her a sleep aid.

            When she’d managed to store enough to mix into Vulpes’ dinner, the waiting became even harder.

            When the perfect night came and she couldn’t find a way to get rid of Europa, she briefly considered killing the slave as well. Somehow every request had a plausible excuse to counter it.

            Her frustration was at an all-time high. Everything had to be started over, and the waiting would begin again.

            Worse, now Vulpes was weary of his food, since the meal had dropped him into a heavy sleep so quickly he’d fallen asleep at his desk, and had woken up late the next morning.

            Her dreams became vivid and violent. She’d read somewhere that it was common enough to have strange dreams while pregnant, but these were like nothing she’d had before. Slaughtering Vulpes in broad daylight quickly became a normal part of her overnight routine. Sometimes Caesar would take his place. Sometimes she’d kill all of them.

            The worst was also her favorite.

            It was so vivid that she could feel it, could smell it. Sometimes she’d wake in the middle of the night roaring her triumph, only to find it had been a dream. Sometimes the gore would make her wake only to vomit.

            She’d slip the knife carefully under the skin; she didn’t want to break it, after all, and skin was a fragile thing. If it stretched out now it was never going back. Peeling away small sections at a time, detaching it carefully from the muscle and bone beneath until it finally gave way and came free. The bleeding husk that was Vulpes’ body slumped to the floor, forever caught in wide-eyed surprise.

            She knew how to tan leather from animal skins. Humans were animals too, right? It couldn’t be so different.

            And so by the end of her dream she wore his skin as _her_ hood, like the dog he was. To strike fear into the hearts of _her_ enemies and rally _her_ friends. She felt rage and power and hate, and loved it.

            A part of her wanted to do it, for real.

            That part of her eventually told him so, when there was nothing left she could do to save her child and all she knew was pain.

            It was almost a disappointment when he wasn’t even surprised. But she knew too well how morbid he was already, how disturbed. That he somehow seemed to expect it from her only made her that much angrier.

            Every time he countered her rage with apathy, she only became angrier. And he still didn’t care.

            So she waited.

            The exact moment would be hard to find, if it ever came.


	4. Vodka & Gomorrah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vulpes sits down with Six to discuss the Legion, the NCR, and the war in general, over drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags** : Vulpes Inculta, Courier Six, drinking, Gomorrah, discussion.
> 
> **Notes** : Again, it's a joy to finally be working with Six. I actually have a lot of him written, but it's not time to release it all yet. Soon, I hope! He's such a cocky, snarky bastard.
> 
> **Wordcount** : 2980

            The courier sat down at a small table near the stage, apparently not wanting the barman to overhear them, and seemingly interested enough in the girl draped delicately around her pole to blend in. Vulpes, on the other hand, didn’t feel quite as calm as he knew he should. The Gomorrah was a den of filth, something he whole-heartedly hoped would eventually burn to the ground. Just not until Nero had fulfilled his promise to secure the Strip for the Legion when the time came.

            It had been the most logical suggestion, despite the fact that Vulpes disliked everything in the place. The whores, the _customers_ , the gamblers, drugs, alcohol, decades of accumulated grime in the faded carpet squares and sticky tables. It was a vile place, but it was Caesar’s vile place. The courier would know, soon enough.

            Even if the barman didn’t overhear them, the man knew Vulpes on sight by now. Dealing with the Omertas meant going to them most of the time, rather than drawing suspicion by forcing them out to the Fort. It was likely Nero and the others would know that he had been seen dealing with the courier before they had even left.

            A bottle of vodka appeared on the table while Vulpes looked away, taking in the half-empty room to be sure there were no threats nearby but for an assortment of meager sins, and as he looked back the courier set down a glass in front of each of them.

            “So tell me,” the courier said quietly, leaning forward over the table as he poured a small quantity of the alcohol into each glass, “why fight for your Legion?”

            Vulpes, suppressed a laugh with a single huffed breath. “You ask this question despite your belief that we will win?”

            The courier nodded, swirling the liquid in his glass before taking a sip. “Victory alone is not a reason to fight.”

            “But when victory is so assured, why choose the losing side?” Vulpes rested his elbows on the table, leaning over it.

            “And yet the NCR has not fallen to your flawless logic; I am surprised.”

            Vulpes snarled, looking down at his untouched drink. Its foul smell wrinkled his nose. “The NCR has few men of any real rapport, and less with any semblance of intelligence. They have no morals, no code to which they cling beyond to retain the rights to remain ignorant and vile.”

            “Whereas your style of rape, slavery, and crucifixion boasts plainly of morals and intellect,” the courier said, with a grin, his glass paused just before his lips.

            “Courier,” Vulpes closed his eyes and took a slow breath, then watched the man’s face carefully, “whether or not you agree with the Legion’s ethics is of no concern to me. But consider this: corruption does not exist within the ranks of the Legion. If a man, of any rank, goes against our laws or codes, he is punished for it. Can you say the same of the NCR? When their soldiers are cruel to the innocent, does a slap on the wrist truly correct their behavior?”

            “Don’t call me that.” Brow furrowed, the courier stared down into his drink, still held high in front of his face. “Six is better.”

            “’Six’ is nothing but a randomized quantity. If you wish to be referred to as something other than your professional title, I suggest you take a name.”

            “I _did_.” Six glared but Vulpes did not back down. “It’s not my fault you choose not to use it.” He glanced down to the untouched glass on Vulpes’ side of the table. “Drink.”

            “Men of the Legion do not drink,” Vulpes stated mechanically, as though he’d said it a thousand times before and the courier simply hadn’t listened.

            “No, not unless they’re Frumentarii trying to blend in,” Six said, grinning like a weasel. “So blend in. Drink.”

            Vulpes’ eyes narrowed. If he chose not to drink now, it could lead the courier to believe that the Gomorrah was a Legion-controlled institution. That was a truth he wasn’t certain should be revealed before the courier was fully committed to their cause. But the idea of drinking with this man left him uneasy.

            He wore a mask of calculated calm as he pretended to take a sip, his eyes not leaving the courier’s.

            “No,” Six said, not blinking. “Don’t pretend. _Drink._ ”

            His teeth pressed so hard together Vulpes’ jaw instantly began to ache. “Very well,” he said carefully, deciding that the courier would not be fooled. He drank a noticeable portion from the glass before setting it back on the table with a _thunk_.

            Six grinned and leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him and settling his arms across his chest. One hand still held his drink. “That’s more like it.”

            Vulpes continued to watch him, taking another, smaller sip. It burned in his mouth but he pretended it didn’t bother him. Alcohol was perhaps the vice he hated most, out of all dissolute habits. It tasted terrible, burned going down, supposedly felt worse coming up, and slowly but surely tore down all the walls and defenses a man had. It wasn’t like a drug, injected, that would hit all at once; it toyed with you, left you wondering just how _drunk_ you were really going to be.

            On this courier, the concept looked easy; in a legionary’s hand…

            Alcohol was not permitted in Caesar’s Legion. But despite that strict law, there were those who were not punished when found with it. Of course, the idea of being tossed into the arena with Vulpes and tested for the skills of a Frumentarius didn’t seem so lenient to most legionaries. The ability to conceal alcohol in or around the Fort took skill, and the ability to hold one’s liquor was valued in a Frumentarius, but they still had to be able to defend themselves against soldiers of quality and rank.

            People of the wasteland drank. It was a simple fact, though an unpleasant one. Vulpes, though, didn’t drink - if it could at all be avoided. Another simple fact, one the courier seemed intent on ignoring. It was one of the things that had been hardest for Vulpes to master. To be out of control of one’s mind, body, actions, even thoughts was a concept that he despised.

            The courier’s eyes moved between Vulpes and the woman dancing on the stage. He seemed quite at ease, but Vulpes wasn’t so sure.

            Vulpes downed the remainder of the glass, deciding that in total he had consumed likely no more than two shots. He suppressed a smirk, silently thanking the Omerta’s for their greed – all their alcohol was significantly watered down, and cheap to begin with.

            “There,” Vulpes said, sliding the glass across the table with a flick of his wrist. “Contented?”

            “Getting there,” Six said, slowly nodding. His eyes remained on the woman as one of the layers of her outfit fell to the floor. “Tell me,” he asked, still not looking at Vulpes, “why do you fight for him?”

            “Because I am a soldier in his army,” Vulpes snapped. “It is my duty.”

            “But _why_?” Six kicked his legs up onto the table, crossing them at the ankles and tipping his chair back precariously. “And don’t give me some bullshit about them raising you and it being your duty to pay back that debt.”

            Vulpes glared at the courier, focusing hard on his own slow, steady breaths to keep them from shaking. He imagined telling Caesar something along the lines of _it is with deep regret that I must inform you that the courier Six got himself killed in a bar fight at the Gomorrah, though I have secured the platinum chip you desired._ An appealing concept.

            Six finally looked back to him. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Six said, his tone full of mockery. “I forgot you guys really aren’t fond of the term ‘bullshit’ for some reason. Something to do with a mascot? I don’t really remember.”

            “The reason I fight for him is that I believe in—“

            “Again with the bullshit,” Six rolled his eyes and sighed. “No, why do you _fight_ for him? When you slice through an enemy’s shoulder and notch your blade on their spine, what drives you to that kill? When you snap their necks, spray their guts across the ground, what is it that makes you keep killing?”

            Vulpes leaned back, slouching his shoulders down the way most men did in the casinos when they’d lost all their money to card games and tricks. He loosened his tie and shoved his fists in his pockets, gazing right through the lines of the table’s aged wood grain.

            “What keeps me killing?” Vulpes asked. “What keeps me killing is the thought that these NCR idiots have the numbers to pose a threat to the Legion. That they could win by force of will, if only because they’re trained to hate anything that doesn’t know the answers to their trivia questions. They lack leadership ability, and they are stretched so thin that their own citizens do nothing but doubt the nation they fight for.”

            Vulpes ran a hand through his hair. His eyes focused on a spot where dirt had clung to a spilled drop of alcohol on the table and built up to a grey smudge over time. “Because they are too afraid of change for anyone’s good, and they cannot be allowed to continue.”

            Six dropped his feet back to the floor and leaned forward again. “Now you’re giving me reasons,” he said, drinking down the end of his glass and pouring another one. He slid the bottle to Vulpes. “So why should I think the Legion is going to do any better?”

            “We have a simple system. Tribes are absorbed to provide soldiers and eliminate the risk of quarrels between petty factions and gangs; we are Legion, nothing else. Cities, towns, villages that agree to join the Legion are all left intact. Military service is optional for all existing families, but sons of new families are required to submit themselves for at least 8 years of service or until death, at age 18. All men are trained in combat, regardless.”

            “Sounds grand,” Six interjected.

            Vulpes continued as though he hadn’t heard him. “We install a group of officials proportional to the settlement’s population to enforce laws and keep records. If the town has difficulties, say a sudden fault in the water supply or a wandering group of raiders or bad roads, the Legion will work towards fixing them. A court is set up if there isn’t one already. Local judges and police forces may remain so long as they follow Legion law.”

            “So you make everything safe and clean by setting up a police state, banning all drugs and alcohol, removing any semblance of technology, and casually enslaving women and men as necessary,” Six asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “The complete ban on alcohol is only within the ranks of the Legion’s army. Technology has its uses, we simply keep it out of war and force our soldiers to rely on their own strength and ability rather than their weapons. As for slavery…”

            Vulpes cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, then shrugged off his suit jacket. The Gomorrah was always too warm with their decorative fires burning in every possible corner.

            “Tribals are enslaved to ensure they do not rebel. Citizens of civilized groups and settlements that join of their own will may sell themselves into temporary slavery, to work off a debt, or may be sentenced into slavery for a time – rather than taking up space in a prison. But it is a temporary thing, and cannot be forced on an unwilling, lawful citizen.”

            “You seem to know quite a lot about this,” Six said, absently clapping with the rest of the room as the dancer giggled her way off stage behind a curtain. “I’m surprised you care so much.” By the look in his eyes, Vulpes decided the courier’s words were genuine.

            “I don’t plan to be a soldier forever,” Vulpes said with a wry grin. “I helped to build many of our laws and tactics. It would be good to settle my family somewhere quiet when this is all over.”

            “I can’t picture you having a family,” Six said with a laugh.

            Vulpes tried not to be insulted.

            Six kept laughing, unperturbed by Vulpes’ humorless expression. “I mean, the man from Nipton? Class: soldier, skills: killing and setting fires, flare for the dramatic? I’m not sure I’d want to live in a place where crucifixion is an acceptable weekend hobby.”

            Vulpes laughed despite himself. “I do have a family,” he said, shaking his head. “A wife and children to bear my name.”

            “How many?” Six asked, his tone conversational. Vulpes knew the man was just fishing for information, but decided to indulge him. The information was harmless enough.

            “Two boys. Ajax and Janus. I’ve taken in my brother’s son as well.”

            The courier nodded his approval with an expression of mock-seriousness. “Appropriately dramatic names for you.”

            “Ajax was an easy choice – he’s large, built like an ox. Killed his mother while trying to enter this world.” Vulpes remembered the crazed, snarling laughter of Sylva’s last words to him. That her death was her victory – she had found her escape, and he could not stop her. The ghost of a smile crept onto his face. _Vicious woman_.

            “Janus took more time to name. Named for the two-faced god. He is my second son but the first from his mother, and a trickster that can play both ends with no trouble.” Vulpes smiled fondly thinking about them. “Corvus I didn’t name, but the name suits him. He is more intelligent than he wants you to realize, and is already a prime candidate to join the Frumentarii.”

            “You can tell that young?” Six pushed.

            “Corvus is older than my boys. He’s four; Ajax is almost two, Janus about 8 months.”

            “You’re saying a four year old boy is a prime Frumentarii candidate?” Six laughed over his drink. “That doesn’t say much for you.”

            Vulpes sighed, shaking his head. “It is easy to tell which ones will be the good ones. They’re quiet, don’t speak but to ask good questions, take care of themselves and work hard. True, boys his age don’t have much to work for yet, but he still trains with his machete every day.”

            “I can’t imagine putting a machete in the hands of a child that young.” The courier tipped his head back and downed the contents of his second glass. “Still. You believe in what you’re doing, and that’s more than can be said about them.” He nodded in the direction of a group of NCR troops laughing drunkenly around a roulette table. “They’re not in it for anything but the money.”

            Vulpes glanced at the group, but his gaze didn’t linger. He lifted his glass and took a sip, wondering when it had been refilled.

            “They join up to make money for free, then bitch that taxes are too high when it’s their own fault. Their money isn’t worth shit anymore now, either,” Six continued, voice light but gaze growing darker. “What you can get for 5 caps will cost you more than 10 NCR.”

            “Or just one denarius,” Vulpes said with a grin.

            “I still can’t picture you with children,” Six muttered into his glass.

            “Perhaps one day you will meet them, should you deign to join us.” Vulpes set his glass back down, realizing he had finished his second. He slid it across the table, away from both the courier and himself. “But what of you? From what I’ve heard you have no family, only a few friends.”

            The courier’s smooth breathing faltered, just for an instant, but it was enough that Vulpes noticed. A touchy subject?

            “You might know better than I do,” Six said. He ran his thumb along the rim of his glass, watching a streaky patch of dirt catch in the moisture. Quickly changing his mood, he set the cup down and tapped two fingers against his temple. “Two to the head, remember?”

            “I may know some things,” Vulpes said noncommittally. In truth, he’d found nothing about the courier other than he was from the West.

            Six laughed, his eyebrows flicking up in his amusement. “It doesn’t matter. I doubt I have anyone left in my past. I’m not the type that sticks around long enough to get a woman’s name. If I’ve fathered any children, I doubt I knew before either.”

            “Do you care to know your past? Do you even care about it at all?” Vulpes cocked his head to the side. The warm glow of the alcohol was taking root in his core.

            Six cast him a quick glance, but let his eyes wander back to his glass. He dropped it onto the table, his voice bitter. “The past is best forgotten.”

            Vulpes smiled, a full and honest smile that reached his eyes. “You think like a man of the Legion.” He leaned forward across the table, holding Six’s gaze. “Fight with us.”

            Six raised an eyebrow.

            “At least hear what Caesar would offer you.”

            Six sighed, nodding. “Fine. I make no promised, but I will hear what he has to say.”

            Vulpes pulled the Mark of Caesar from his pocket, sliding it across the table. “You are promised safe passage into and out of our territory, regardless. Caesar is a generous man. You would do well by his side.”

            “Says the man wearing a hood made out of a dog’s head, from the army of sports equipment and dinner plates,” Six scoffed. “For the record, I refuse to wear a skirt.”

            Laughing, Vulpes sat back in his chair. “They’re more comfortable than you would think.”


	5. Favors Are a Bad Habit, You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vulpes is rather displeased and needs to vent, and there's only one person he can talk to about it: Six. Unfortunately, the damn courier is annoying as all hell, and a bit too handsy - but he may be able to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags** : Vulpes Inculta, Courier Six, Alcohol, Prostitutes existing, Six is such a skeevy bastard I hate him.
> 
>  **Notes** : This one is part of a series of encounters between Vulpes and Six that I have been writing, but I probably wont release most of them. Just what's necessary. Like this part. It's shorter than I figured it would be, but, here we are. I would not at all mind some comments on this one!
> 
>  **Wordcount** : 1678

            Six was sitting at the slot machines when he noticed Vulpes leaning against the wall by the door. He stood, casually wandering towards the bar, and Vulpes followed.

            “I’m surprised to see you here,” Six admitted. “It’s not your turn.”

            “I need a distraction,” Vulpes said, keeping all traces of bitterness from his voice. “You’ve proven useful for such things in the past, even when unenjoyable.” The barman placed a short glass of what looked like whiskey in front of him. Despite himself, he downed it in one long shot.

            The courier’s eyebrows crept upwards, watching him. “Bad day at the office dear?”

 _No_. The last person who had made that kind of joke was Sylva, and thinking about that wouldn’t help. Vulpes’ hand flew to Six’s throat, his eyes like fire. “You will not say anything like that again.”

            Six held his hands up in surrender. “All right, I can tell a sore spot when it tries to choke me.” Vulpes let go, but Six didn’t relax. “Are you here to talk?”

            “No.”

            Six downed the rest of his drink, setting the empty glass on the bar. He held his arm out in a sweeping gesture towards the door. “Shall we, then?”

            “Anything to get out of this abysmal place,” Vulpes muttered, kicking over a chair as he walked by. Gomorrah’s staff knew better than to complain; the Legion was paying them enough money to look the other way for just about anything.

            “It’s not so bad,” Six said with a grin. He dropped a few Legion coins down the front of a dancer’s tight top, winking at her. The girl grinned back grinding her ass up against the side of his leg and sliding down low to the ground, then back up. With a wink and a kiss on his cheek, she wandered back towards the stage – the firelight dancing on her dark, smooth skin. The woman made little come-hither gestures to him, but Vulpes pulled him away by the arm.

            “She seemed like a pretty good distraction to me,” the courier muttered, sulking after him. “Most men wouldn’t mind one of that kind. A couple of those, a bottle of booze–”

            Vulpes cut off his words by turning around and punching him squarely in the jaw. Gasps came from some of the casino’s patrons, no one sure quite what to do as the staff ignored the pair entirely. Six’s eyes widened, brow furrowed in anger, but he didn’t throw a hit back.

            “Fine. I see how this is going to go. Where are you taking me?” he asked, his tone flat and all the pleasant smoothness gone from his voice.

            “You know where,” Vulpes said, turning on his heel and continuing his walk towards the door. As if there were anywhere else.

            “I didn’t realize that was your home-away-from-home,” Six said as he pushed through the door beside him. “Do you live in a bombed out apartment at the Fort as well? Or do you prefer your houses with walls and doors, and simply got the short stick on your vacation rental?”

            Vulpes noted the obvious annoyance in his tone, but didn’t care. “It serves its purpose. There are few interruptions.”

            They headed past a short blonde dancer towards the Strip-Freeside gate. Securitrons barked at them, thanking them for visiting New Vegas and reminding them that no violence is permitted on the Strip. But they weren’t staying on the Strip anyway.

 

            Vulpes kicked away bits of broken concrete as he walked up the stairs to the second floor of his New Vegas hideout, overlooking the walls of North Vegas and with a view of Freeside from the nearly inaccessible third floor.

            “Have you ever thought of getting a welcome mat?” Six asked, leaning against the empty doorway. “Might liven the place up a bit.”

            With a forced sigh, Vulpes pulled at the buttons of his shirt and ignored the comment. He gave up after the first two and slid the shirt up over his head anyway, tossing it onto the dark brown suit jacket.

            “That could work too,” Six said, voice warm and full of interest.

            “You disgust me,” Vulpes said, pulling back and aiming another punch for the courier’s skull. Six jumped back out of the way just in time, laughing.

            He unzipped his leather jacket, waiting to see if Vulpes would take another swing before moving to pull it off. It fell to the floor not far from Vulpes’ own jacket. “So you want to fight me?”

            “I hardly care,” Vulpes snarled as he rushed forward, attempting to turn Six’s punch into a throw – but Six broke his grip and wrenched free.

            “Would you rather fuck?” Six asked, dodging Vulpes’ roundhouse kick.

            Vulpes swore. He was making stupid mistakes; a recruit could do better at this than he was. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t focus.

            Six grabbed both of Vulpes fists, holding them in the air in front of them. “What’s bothering you?” he asked, actual concern showing in his eyes. “I’ve never seen you this worked up over something, not even my dicking around.”

            Vulpes kicked Six in the chest, sending the courier scuttling back into a wall and Vulpes down to the floor. “White Legs,” he shouted.

            “I’m sorry?” Six asked, clearly confused. He rubbed the back of his head where it had hit the wall with a smack. “What’d you say? I was too busy cracking my skull to hear you properly.”

            “White Legs,” Vulpes repeated. “In Zion.”

            “Ah. Your daughter.”

            Vulpes pulled at his hair with both hands. “Caesar is considering sending Lanius to Zion with two of his favorite Centurions, to deal with the tribes quickly and absolutely, as punishment for their slowness. It is undoing everything I have worked for.” He stared at the floor as he spoke, his sweaty hair standing up at odd angles where he pulled at it.

            “I think,” Six started, approaching Vulpes carefully, “we can help each other out here.” He crouched down on the floor in front of him, still poised to spring away if necessary. It didn’t bother Vulpes that the man was treating him as though he were a wild animal; it meant he still had at least some kind of respect, even if it wasn’t the kind he necessarily wanted.

            “If I were to go to Zion,” Six reached out to smooth Vulpes’ mussed hair, but Vulpes batted his arm away, “and take care of this problem you call White Legs, Caesar would be impressed, would he not?”

            Vulpes laughed, bitterly. “It is not so simple. Caesar has contracted these tribals to kill all the remaining New Caananites, a service for which he will grant them entry into the Legion. He has even had one of my Frumentarii work with them before, Ulysses, to destroy their homeland. They are well trained, but savage. It would be a favor to the Legion if they were eliminated.”

            “Will I run into this Ulysses of yours if I enter Zion?”

            Vulpes shook his head. “He either left the Legion or has met his end somewhere to the West. He had a particular fondness for the Divide.”

            “Never heard of it,” Six said, brushing away the words. “I will go to Zion however, and I will deal with the White Legs. You say these men have set out to kill the New Caananites, so they will likely be looking to find Joshua Graham. You will be compromised until that is dealt with.”

            “Do not say his name,” Vulpes muttered. “He suffers _damnatio memoriae_. Caesar would have you killed for it.”

            “How best do I deal with him?” Six asked, moving to sit next to Vulpes, crossing his legs on the floor. “You seem like you would be the one to know.”

            “He burns with hate inside for Caesar, regret for his work with the Legion. But he is still a dangerous man. Do not underestimate or anger him, or those he works with.” Vulpes fisted a hand in his hair again, trying to clear his mind.

            “I would assume it best not to mention my affiliation with the Legion then?” Six laughed. “As though it’s a good idea anywhere these days.”

            “Tell him…” Vulpes thought hard, uncertain of his ideas. It was not something he was used to. “Tell him that the head of Salt-Upon-Wounds, the leader of the White Legs, is a gift from a friend. Let him take it if he chooses. He will understand. Offer no further details however, as even that little could compromise your mission.”

            Six trailed a finger along the side of Vulpes’ neck, his touch feather-light. His jagged, bitten fingernails still caught on Vulpes dry skin. “One severed head, coming up. Compliments of the infamous Fox of the Mojave.” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

            “They will not be easy to defeat,” Vulpes said, not moving. “Their favorite weapons are their ‘storm drums’ – sub-machine guns.”

            Laughing, the courier tapped two fingers against his temple again, echoing his own words. “Two to the head, remember? I can take care of myself.”

            Vulpes let himself be pushed down onto his back. “I will owe you a debt for this,” he said, his tone apathetic but his mind reeling with self-loathing. Vulpes made it a point not to owe debts to any man.

            “Yes,” Six said. “You will.”

            Vulpes raged against himself, desperately wanting to reach out and pummel the courier’s face into the ground while outwardly displaying no emotions at all. This would haunt him, somehow, he knew. The courier was too clever a man not to use this favor to his advantage.

            “I guess we won’t know who would have won today,” Six said with a grin. “I needed a vacation anyway. He stood, holding out a hand to pull Vulpes to his feet as well, but Vulpes didn’t take it. “You can always stay at the 38, you know.”

            Vulpes shook his head. “I’m not in the habit of asking favors.”

            “You didn’t ask for one.”

            “And I don’t plan to.”


	6. In the Papers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes work is the same thing as kicking back and relaxing for Vulpes.

Vulpes had been sitting on one of the benches in front of the Tops reading and then pretending to read a Shady Sands newspaper from the NCR one of the Troopers had left behind. It was only vaguely interesting, saying little of interest. A list of polling places for various budget votes; an article documenting the most recent list of names of those NCR soldiers the Legion had put down; a review of a new play. The mundane didn’t fully interest him, and the list of names was several months out of date. He even remembered a few of the names himself. A tiny smirk crossed his features at the idea of bringing the article back as a clipping to file away, with a few notes amending the “cause of death: unknown”s.

What did intrigue him were the Local Opinion pages towards the back, just after the comics – many of which featured the top men of the Legion making fools of themselves or being found in compromising positions with each other. The poorly drawn cartoons did make him scowl, but the pages following were more than enough to make up for it. Titles such as _Caesar’s Legion: the Brotherhood of Iron_? and _Kimball’s (in)Kompetence_ presented views the local NCR tried to keep quiet.

 

**_Caesar’s Legion: the Brotherhood of Iron?_ **

 

>      In the years since the NCR pushed back the threat of the Brotherhood of Steel, we have experienced a growth both of pride and population. Our economy has boomed and we have pushed out into more and more territories, expanding at an astonishing rate. Have we pushed too far?
> 
>      Caesar’s Legion, while far less armed than the Brotherhood, is every bit as much a threat. These men fight in skirts with knives and have already killed more NCR men than had died in the entire war against the Brotherhood. More than a few people have voiced the idea that we should try to form some sort of peace with them, but the voice of the people is silenced by the voice of the government, chanting that we cannot give in to the demands of a tyrant.
> 
>      I asked several anonymous Shady Sands natives for their opinions on the situation, and their views are mixed.
> 
>      “How are we supposed to make a choice like that? Slavery or death?” said one middle-aged mother of three. “Sure I don’t want to see my daughters become some soldier’s ‘personal assistant,’ but I don’t know that I’d rather see them dead either. I don’t know.”
> 
>      The voice of the youth is loud and clear though, with several voicing similar thoughts to one another. “I’d rather die fighting than being beaten down by them,” said one local teen. Her friend added, “the only reason I’d want to be a slave is so I could punch them right between the legs, and then I’d end up dead anyway. Might as well go down in war instead and take a few of them with me.”
> 
>      The men of the city are decidedly less committed to the fight than the women, and it’s no surprise why. Men don’t face quite the same threat as the women do, though forced labor and child soldiery are both no joke either. But for them, it’s do your job and you’ll get paid, fed, and clothed. For women, it’s do your job and you’ll get forcibly impregnated by whoever is interested in you at the moment, then your child will be taken away and either raised as a slave or a soldier by someone else.
> 
>      This isn’t to say that all men are suggesting we put down our weapons and become a Legion territory. On the contrary, many men are outright disgusted by the ideas the Legion brings with it. Slavery, a state religion, all men as soldiers with a debt to the state that can only be paid in blood, brutal executions, _tyranny_ in its harshest forms.
> 
>      There have been several studies conducted as of late to try and find out just what the people really think of this war, and it’s not hard to tell that somebody fudged numbers, one way or another. A private study conducted by the Broken Arms Foundation, a non-profit organization that resettles families displaced by the war and provides long-term medical and mental care to veterans, suggested that more and more citizens are becoming interested in peace instead of destroying the Legion. On the other hand, the Department of Public Interest performed a similar study, publishing results earlier this week that show a 50/50 split.
> 
>      Neither can compare with the NCRAF’s survey, suggesting that over 90% of citizens want to see the Legion defeated. One has to remember, however, that this topic doesn’t have anything to do with the actual war.
> 
>      While there are obvious conflicts of interest between these three groups, it seems that none of them can silence the growing want of peace. The Steel Wars are still vividly remembered by much of our nation’s citizens as some of the bloodiest times in our history – has Caesar’s Legion become the Brotherhood of our day? An Iron Brotherhood with more swords than guns, and seemingly an infinite population (something the Brotherhood of Steel was never able to generate).
> 
>      Perhaps it’s time for Kimball to take a step back and listen to the people he claims to be fighting for.

 

The article then went on to list numerous names and addresses of congressmen and other official government representatives and agencies to contact and voice opinions to. Luckily for the Legion, much of the NCR appeared to be populated with blind eyes and deaf ears.

Vulpes tore out the article from the page and pocketed it. Even though the article itself was largely uninformative, the contact information at the end was far from it. What may be easily obtained knowledge in the heart of Shady Sands was much harder to come by in the Mojave, and it was always good to keep record of who to talk to and why.

He flipped back to the comics as an NCR trooper sat down on the other end of the bench for a smoke break.

“The _Gone with the Winds_ strip has really gone downhill lately,” the trooper said, gesturing to the paper with his cigarette.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Vulpes said casually. “I rarely get a chance to read the paper lately.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” The trooper shook his head. “Everything’s been tough since the Monorail. But yeah, somebody was telling me they heard the guy who draws that strip got bought out by the Kimball administration. It’s all silly little jokes about casinos and drunks now. None of that grit it had before. No realism. Damn shame, it was the only thing you could count on to get it right about what life’s like out here.”

“A shame indeed, then.” Vulpes folded the paper back up and set it on the bench beside himself again. “I need to get back to work, my break is almost over.”

“Have a good one then.” The trooper nodded and stretched out on the bench, picking up the paper himself. “Thanks for leaving it.”

“Indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one a while back and only just now noticed I never posted it. Have some world building!


	7. Tennis for Gladiators

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caesar is getting tired of the constant arguing between the men under his command.

In the days leading up to the attack on Hoover Dam, Caesar was beginning to notice just how prone to headaches he’d become. Many of them were brought on by his own men, unfortunately. He would often sit late into the night with the men he’d assigned to lead different sectors of his army: his Legate of course, Lucius his head Praetorian, Vulpes Inculta of the Frumentarii, Antony the Master of Hounds, and a chosen few Centurions that had good minds for tactics.

For the most part, these meetings were to keep everyone up to speed on what would be coming in the days ahead. The Legate would report back to all centurions, Lucius to the Praetorianii, Inculta to his men, and Antony to his assistants. It was simple enough. Unless anyone wanted to actually get anything done in terms of a _new_ battle movement. At that point there was a much more chaotic, yet firmly set, script that needed to be followed.

The Legate would suggest a full frontal assault, nine times out of ten. Inculta would counter that idea with a much more delicate plan that would take far longer. Antony would tell both that he could have mongrels ready for them at any time. The centurions would attempt to pick apart both plans of action, deciding that mixed tactics would be better than either. Lucius would stay quiet and, when necessary at the end of the meeting, remind everyone that the final decision laid with the Caesar, and that only one man in the room bore that name.

Lucius was a godsend, to be sure, but even he couldn’t stop the bickering between the Legate and Inculta. No one could, usually. More often than not, it was like watching a tennis match, the battle plan being knocked back and forth between them with brutality he expected of veteran legionaries, not of his leaders.

“A direct assault on the Dam would be far too costly,” Inculta said, countering whatever it was that the Legate had suggested.

“And I would assume you have a _better_ plan in mind?” the Legate asked, eyebrows raised. It was the typical pattern. Joshua was so inflated with his own ego that the idea someone else might have a better plan than his own was not only genuinely out of his grasp, but insulting. He took it personally. It was something Caesar had seen coming, but could do little to prevent.

“Indeed.” Standing to point at a farther region of the map, Vulpes began to explain. “If we were to bring our troops through Cottonwood Cove and march them North along the riverbank, we could take the city of Boulder, then push directly into an assault on the dam. Their own men would be forced backward into our own waiting jaws.”

The Legate rolled his eyes, standing with a forced sigh. He leaned down over the map as well, mimicking Inculta’s position, supporting himself on balled fists. “If we were to march them in the heat of this desert for so long before the fight, not only would the NCR have ample time to prepare for an assault on the city, but our men would be already exhausted before the fight. It seems likely we could not even take the city at that point.”

Behind him, Caesar felt Lucius take just a halfstep forward – a subtle reminder. If he could have offered the man a higher position, Caesar would have. Gladly.

“As though they do not expect us to attack already.” Vulpes highlighted the distance between the newly dubbed “Legion Fort” and Boulder City, his thumb and index finger able to span the space effortlessly. “We have located ourselves at the city’s back door. Some of them likely look out their windows and see what we are having for dinner each night.”

“We do not question that the proximity of our camp to theirs is a bit close for comfort, Vulpes,” Caesar interjected, rubbing his forehead with his hand.

“Of course, my Lord,” Vulpes bowed his head carefully. “I simply wished to remind our Legate that the enemy will see us coming easily, with ample space to retreat to, if we were to follow his plan.” He turned back to the Legate, raising his voice again. “Whereas if we were to lock them in, we could destroy them in their own homes and leave them nowhere to run.”

There was a murmur between two of the Centurions, but the Legate silenced them with a look. “Turning to attack them from behind would allow two battlefronts; the city and the various settlements behind. Ones your own Frumentarii have been kind enough to inform us of.” He gestured to various places on the map as he continued. “If we were to attempt to ‘sneak up’ on Boulder, the 188 Trading Post would immediately take notice due to their higher vantage point, and could radio the Mojave Outpost to the West.”

“Not if my men remove that capability from them beforehand,” Vulpes said with a shrug. “A mere handful of traders with no means of communication would have little impact on the battle.”

“What do we know about the area?” Caesar asked, already frustrated though they were only minutes into the night’s discussion. “We’ve got a trading post with a radio, and a city. Is there anything special about the place?”

Vulpes straightened himself, pressing the front of his uniform flat before addressing Caesar. “Boulder is, at present, populated with numerous NCR engineers and contains a reasonable military presence more out of formality than true thought of defense. It houses the Dam’s workers, and manages to keep a few shops and one dining establishment.” He gestured to the various roads nearby. “The trading post, as mentioned, sits on a raised vantage point on a pre-war highway crossroads. It is near to both New Vegas and the Dam, and also serves a handful of communities to the South and West. While a frequent trading stop, it rarely sees any military men passing through. There is, however, to the North of the city, a Ranger outpost that would likely witness any activity in the area.”

Ceasar shook his head, annoyed. “Great, so from that side we have 3 groups that might notice us. From this side, everyone will notice us.”

“I still believe that a frontal assault will be the best option,” the Legate added, still leaning down over the map. “It would be far easier and far quicker to begin the attack.”

“And easier on the dogs!” Antony added, ever helpful.

“Your dogs wouldn’t mind an extra walk,” Vulpes laughed, though it was easy enough to tell he wasn’t amused. “They already try to escape and wander the camp whenever you kennel them for the night.”

“They don’t like being cooped up,” Antony whined, immediately going on the defensive for the sake of his puppies. “You can’t blame them for just wanting to get out there and find something to kill!”

“Your dogs are wonderful,” Caesar said, attempting to calm himself. “That is not in question. As for how to handle the attack on the Dam, I’m inclined to go with whatever my Legate suggests. He’s been able to win battles enough of the time in the past on his own thinking, and I’m tired of this arguing. You’re all dismissed.” Caesar waved his hand vaguely in the direction of those in front of him.

“As you wish, my Lord,” Vulpes said with another graceful bow. _Damn snake_. Without another word, they all dispersed – Caesar didn’t particularly care where to.

“Is there anything you require, my Lord?” Lucius asked quietly behind him.

Caesar couldn’t help but laugh as he stood, heading for his private tent behind them. “Yeah. I require a goddamn nap.”


	8. Impatience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six always had terrible timing, as far as Vulpes was concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags** : PLOT?!, Vulpes Inculta, Courier Six, Freeside.
> 
> **Notes** : Before the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, things get tense in the city. This just sort of falls in the middle of that time just before things really go to hell.
> 
> **Wordcount** : 1654

Each time Vulpes found himself returning to New Vegas he was somehow more amazed by the looming feeling that the war would soon swallow it whole. It was part of what drew him there, sometimes – the reason he took on minor tasks that could easily be handled by another of the Frumentarii. It didn't take a lot of work to flood a secretary with alcohol and see what she'd overheard in the last few days about the NCR's frantic scrambling. He had men working from within Camp McCarran and funneling him news through a handful of ghouls neutral to the war. Messages could be delivered to Nero in the Gomorrah without his help. But he wanted to be in the thick of his work, not stuck looking over maps and personnel files in a tent some miles from the city. 

The only remaining problem was that of the Courier, and that problem was his own. 

Six had agreed to fight alongside Caesar in the battle that was coming. He'd had his leg tended to properly by the Followers of the Apocalypse, and though it would be a long time before he was able to fight off a hoard of NCR in a skirmish again, he could hold his own. Unlike true Legion men, he wore thick armor across his chest to stop bullets from ripping through him. He'd manage, one way or another. Or, preferably, he'd be shot in the head enough times for him to stay down this time, and the NCR would somehow have managed to do something useful for once. 

Vulpes assumed the gods were not going to be that good to him.

This place was one of his favorites to wait at. He stood leaning against the wall to the Followers' Fort, foot raised up against the wall and cigarette in hand, watching the world go by. It was in shadow for most of the day, and had a clear view down the main street of Freeside to his left, a clear view of the North Gate to his right, and a general idea of what was going on with the Followers as well. Not that there was often much to watch anymore. 

The streets of Freeside were both more empty and more hostile than they had been since the Legion had first come to Nevada. He watched the people of the city scurry from one place to the next, fear evident in their movements. It didn't do well to linger in the streets now; a smaller war all its own had sprung up in the city as its residents fought over territory in terms of homes, shops, drug dens and underground groups that thought they went unnoticed. Most of the city's ghouls had been forced into begging for asylum with the Followers, crippling his use of them as informants. The result was that no one was often where he expected them to be anymore, and he had to rely entirely on his own powers of observation to know what was happening in the city.

It didn't surprise him, as such, that the Courier exited the Followers' fort after a few minutes with a cigarette of his own. Vulpes glanced at him briefly, not turning his head.

"Fancy seeing you here," the courier said quietly, without any of his usual smirks or antics. 

"Courier." Vulpes gave him a slight nod in greeting, but continued to watch the streets. Even the usual mercenaries that lurked around Freeside's North gate were missing, and the lack of activity left the place feeling raw. 

"It's jarring, isn't it?" The Courier gestured vaguely in front of him with his cigarette. "All this. Or I guess the lack of all of it."

Vulpes nodded again, voicing no other answer. He'd been waiting for someone else, for information he didn't want the Courier to overhear. He knew though that if Six wanted something, he wasn't about to leave just because he was being quiet. 

"I guess I expected it, in a way. I don't know. It shouldn't be happening so quickly. It will be months before anything really happens here. Before the Legion moves in on the Dam again." 

Vulpes shrugged. "They are afraid of change. If we told them they would be spared, they would not believe it and the NCR would simply fall back into the city to use the civilians as a shield." He breathed in another puff of smoke, exhaling slowly before he continued. "The more we destroy, and the more civilians we slaughter, the more work for us to rebuild. But they do not understand what we want – a working city with an economy that somehow thrives even in the worst of times."

"It still doesn't make sense. The Legion abhors a very particular subset of iniquity. Drugs, alcohol, prostitutes – and I still haven't figured that one out, and living without a purpose. Why New Vegas then? The capital of it all?" Six shook his head, dropping the remains of his cigarette and smothering it with his boot. "No one understands it."

With a smirk, Vulpes nodded again. "You are correct, they do not understand it." He saw his informant crossing the street and heading down an alley, and thanked him silently for having the good sense to avoid this unexpected meeting. The benefit of keeping information traveling only among Frumentarii now was that they weren't all idiots bumbling around with hands outstretched and begging for caps. "I doubt they ever will."

Six rolled his eyes. "You don't need to keep everything to yourself, you know. You can trust me, you've seen that now."

Vulpes raised an eyebrow at him. The thing of it was, he  _didn't_  trust him. Not for an inch, and certainly not for a mile. His distrust of the man had been read by Caesar as simple power struggle however, meaning that nothing was going to stop Caesar from using the Courier for any- and everything. The fact of the army of securitrons that now listened solely to Six had only tightened the Caesar's hold on him. The work Six had done in Zion had secured himself a high place in the Legion's hierarchy, and given him a hold on Vulpes that left the Frumentarius anxious every time the man appeared. So Vulpes kept his mouth shut, refusing Six even the simplest of explanations. It gave him a certain kind of joy to deny him, even if it  _was_  petty and pointless. 

Not bothering to mask his glare, Six crossed his arms and stared Vulpes down. "Tonight. Training. Where? You're obviously not at the Fort and neither am I." His shortness effectively communicated his frustration, which only served to put a slight grin on Vulpes' face.

"There is a small group of raiders causing trouble for me at the West end of the city. Only three or four of them. I'd assume that we can easily take care of them, even if you leave most of them to me." Vulpes glanced down at the Courier's leg, still in a brace from his surgery several weeks prior. "Think you can manage it?" Even if he couldn't Vulpes didn't really care. He needed to be ready, and soon. 

"Fine. Where do we meet?"

"I'll be near the Thorn's entrance. I have other business there to take care of first." Six stepped closer, much closer than Vulpes would have liked. He leaned away, but that only made the Courier encroach further. "I'll find you." When Six moved to stand in front of him at a distance not even comfortably acceptable between lovers, Vulpes roughly shoved him away.

"What," Six toyed, stepping forward again, "ashamed to be seen so near to me?"

"I have no further business with you for now," Vulpes growled. "And it isn't wise to be seen together in the first place, let alone on top of each other."

"So proper. For someone with your tastes, I'm surprised. Would it be better if  _I_ were the one trapped against the wall?" Six licked his lips suggestively, tearing a snarl from Vulpes' lips.

It took every ounce of control Vulpes had left not to shout that he had only two uses for Six – as something to use and then as something to destroy. So he answered with a simple "no" and stepped away in the direction his Frumentarius had gone. "Perhaps later."

The courier let out a low hum of approval. "You always are more agreeable when there's blood on your hands," he said with a laugh. "If you'd rather fuck on a pile of corpses than on a bed in a comfortable, safe place, who am I to judge?"

Disgusted with him, Vulpes stalked away. He was afraid of what he'd do if he stayed any longer. If he wasn't sure that Caesar would have him killed for losing the only man that controlled the securitrons that would ensure their victory at the Dam, he would likely have gutted Six on the spot. He'd served his purpose, and now needed to be eliminated.

It was dangerous how much the Courier knew. He had access to the most important men in the Legion, and most of their recent plans. Worse than that, for himself at least, he held secrets that would mean a very uncomfortable death for Vulpes if revealed. If this agreement they had come to meant he had a way to vent his frustrations and keep Six satisfied all at once, then so be it. But once the battle was won, he was going to find every opportunity to send the damned Courier into the most dangerous situations he could find until one of them finally killed the man. There  _had_ to be something in the Mojave that could kill him. Not for the first time he cursed Benny Gecko's memory for using such a weak weapon on Six's skull. Why not a .45? Or a rocket launcher?


End file.
